Heart Of A Child
by The Last Letter
Summary: In New Orleans, Sam's life is a living hell. She struggles through every day but everyone has their break point. When Sam reaches hers, she does the unthinkable. (Reflections/Wonderwall prequel)


_Well, I feel like the time's just slipping away_

_And it seems that the road gets rougher each day_

_Sometimes I get caught up_

_With little things that just don't matter_

I stumbled up the road that led to my house. It was winter in New Orleans, but that didn't mean much. It never really got cold. Still, as I wandered up the sidewalk, I felt chilled to the bone. I pulled the sleeve of my sweater down over my hands and tried not to think about the events of the day but I couldn't. The thoughts just kept sneaking up in my brain.

Over and over, their words rang in my head: ugly; bitch; slut; whore; useless; disgusting; waste of space; cunt.

The insults were nothing new to me. I heard them every day when I walked into school. The popular crowd liked to pick on me – Leslie in particular. I wasn't their only target, but sometimes it felt like it. Sometimes it felt as though I couldn't turn any corner in my high school without being tripped, hit, or mocked. Surely there were days that I went undetected, when some other geek or nerd occupied their attention, but it never felt like it.

People will often say that girls fight with words and boys fight with fists. I haven't found that to be true. When the popular kids, a large group of boys _and_ girls, caught up with me, like they did today, the boys would call out to me, taunting me with names. The girls would be the ones who would grip me by the arm, punch me until I bruised, or slap me so hard their nails would rake my cheek and I would bleed.

I brought my hand up to the side of my face and back down. Faint traces of blood stained the tips of my fingers. With a heavy sigh, I wiped my hand against the side of my black jeans and pulled my hood up over my face. My parents weren't home so I wasn't hiding it from them. Rather, I was hiding from the mirror that Mother had hanging by the front door. _I_ didn't want to see my scratched face. _I_ didn't want to see what they did to me.

It only reminded me that I really was worthless and pathetic, just like they all said.

I rounded a street corner and continued to brood. One thing that really gets me sometimes is that I could have been one of them; one of the all mighty popular kids who _never_ seem to stop smiling and laughing, who never seem unhappy. I'm rich, just like they are. My parents belong to the same high society that theirs do. When I was little I was invited to all of their birthday parties; I hung out at their houses. I was _this_ close to being one of them and, if I had known then that I would be this miserable later in life, I might have played their game; I might have changed who I was just to fit in.

I hadn't though. So, instead of wearing the fancy, ruffled dresses that Mother never failed to lay out on my bed, I tore them up and pulled on well-worn jeans and one of my father's old plaid button-ups that he gave up wearing just after I was born, trading it in for a business suit. At Leslie's tea party I'd brought my glow-in-the-dark bat plush rather than the China dolls all of the other girls brought and I didn't behave like they had either. Unlike me, those six-year-old girls had actually attended the etiquette lessons their mothers scheduled and followed the manners that their parents and nannies preached about. They had their pinkies in the air and nibbled on their chocolate squares while I had my entire hand wrapped around my tea cup and bragged about how I could fit two whole squares in my mouth at once. No matter what I did, I just couldn't get things right with those little girls. I'd tried to be a tomboy after that; I had tried to find a niche in with the guys. Another girl, Dominique, had done so. She'd earned their respect by beating up Charles Parker and belching the entire alphabet. I'd nearly been welcomed by them (even though I wasn't the most athletically inclined, I could climb a tree faster than anyone and, when I was on a flat surface when I couldn't trip over my own feet, I was faster than Charles' twin, the fastest boy in our grade) but I'd ruined that too. I said big words that they couldn't understand (even then, I was already turning to the pages of books for the companionship that other kids refused to offer) and I was a vegetarian, something that the bacon-loving, steak-consuming boys laughed at me for.

I was different; I was an outcast.

I had nearly reached my street when I heard it. The call that came near daily that never ceased to make me flinch.

"_Manson!"_

It was Rocky Simms. He was the most popular boy in my high school based on his basketball scores and the fact that he was dating Leslie, the most popular girl.

I tucked my chin into my chest and tried to lengthen my stride. I was almost home. I was hopeful that I could get to the sanctuary of my room before Rocky and the entourage following him that was sure to be following him descended on me. Though, my hope was dashed, when footsteps sounded directly behind me. I was grabbed by the arm and twirled around.

"Turn around and talk to us," Rocky said casually, as if we were friends.

I tried to struggle out of the grip of Charles Parker, but he wasn't letting me go. I thought about kicking him but then realized I'd better not. Maybe if I didn't fight back then they would get bored and just let me go home.

Leslie, on Rocky's arm, giggled loudly. "Ew, why do we want to talk to her?"

"Teach her a lesson, maybe," Becky Robinson suggested. "How to not be a loser 101."

"Like she'll ever be anything but a loser," Jason Parker sneered, lips curled into a snarl as he stared at me.

Charles pushed me forward and the group of dozen or so students closed in around me. I spun around, looking desperately for a break in the circle but there were none. They had effectively trapped me. I had been in a bully circle only once before and I knew what was to come. My heart thudded in my chest; I felt tears prick at my eyes and I tried my best to forcefully push them back down as quickly as they came.

Ashley Miller kicked me in the ass, sending me flying into Rocky's chest. Leslie maneuvered herself so that she was the one to push me away.

"Get your diseased ass away from my boyfriend, bitch," she exclaimed, sending me toward Jason.

He shoved me and off I went. I was bounced around like a Ping-Pong ball between the students. They shoved me so hard that I could feel my skin bruising as soon as they touched me. I fell a couple of times, scraping my palms and knees; once I couldn't catch myself in time and marred my face. Becky had given me a fat lip when her fist caught my face. My books had been pulled from my bag and were kicked around with me; my textbooks and worksheets scattered up and down the street.

I fell a final time, catching myself, though barely. My injured hands hit the pavement and I winced. I waited for hands to pull me back up but none did. Before the popular pack moved on, someone delivered a hasty kick to my ribs, though I'm not sure who. As they left me lying on the street, I heard their casual conversation strike up: they wanted to go get pizza.

I picked myself up off of the ground and I sprinted home. I left my bag and other possessions behind. I didn't want them to change their minds about getting something to eat and return to me. My fear that they would change their minds, in addition to the flat surface of the sidewalk, had me flying home, faster than I'd ever run before. I made it home in record time. I threw myself inside and locked the door behind me, not daring to look back.

The house was empty, just as I'd known it would be, so I threw myself down in front of the door and sobbed to my heart's content.

_I remember how I used to swing from a rope_

_One that sat on the hills just above Jackson's Cove_

When I was younger, back when my parents actually had time for me, we used to go to our vacation house for over a month every summer. It sat on a beautiful lake and wasn't too far from a city so that Mother could get her daily dose of shopping in. I loved that vacation home. We were fairly isolated from other homes so I didn't have to worry about being judged by other kids or about impressing anybody. I was free to just be little; no expectations, no demands resting on my shoulders. It was the best time of my life.

I stayed outdoors most of the time. There was one place in particular that I always liked to visit. It was a short walk away from our house. It wasn't tall enough to be called a cliff but it was a pretty sizable hill. I used to clamber close to the edge on my belly and peek down at the lake and the small beach that lay below me.

My favourite thing about my little place, hands down, was the tire swing. It was attached to one of the trees close to the edge of the little cliff. I loved to climb up on it, loop my legs over the top and wrap my hands around the scratchy rope. I could spend hours just sitting on that tire swing, kicking myself off the tree trunk and just letting myself go. It was the closest I would ever come to flying and I enjoyed every second of it.

Swinging on that tire swing felt like absolute freedom, which was the only thing I'd ever wanted.

_Sometimes I close my eyes_

_And just go back to that little girl_

I forced myself from the floor and rolled onto to my feet. I stumbled out of the main entrance way and headed toward the stairs. It took a herculean effort to get up them, my entire body aching, but I managed it step by step. On the slow journey upward, my eyes were drawn toward the plethora of photographs that lined the wall the stairs were against. Most of the photos were of me, chronicling my life from a new-born to the surly teenager that I was now.

Every photo is professionally done; the few candid photos my parents took were tucked away in photo albums that would be covered in a layer of dust if we didn't have a maid that came in three times a week to clean in the mornings. And in every photo, I was in a fancy dress that I hated with a 'serious' look on my face. Mother called it serious when she shows her friends; I called it my 'trying-not-to-kill-the-cameraman expression'.

Still, I watched myself grow up as I ascended the stairs. I paused in front of my six-year-old self. I wished that I could go back to being her; back when I had nothing to worry about. When I was six, I wasn't bullied; my parents were always home and they always had time for me; I didn't have a single worry in the world. It would be nice, to be that little girl again, to not have to worry if the world was out to get me when I already knew that it was.

But I couldn't go back in time and I couldn't change my life.

So long as I was alive, I would be stuck in hell.

_I wanna run_

_I wanna fall_

_I wanna take every chance that's given to me _

I'm not going to lie … there's no point now. I'd thought about suicide before; I'd thought about it in depth. I had thought about the when, where and how. I had thought about what would happen to the parents I had left behind. Every single time, though, I had always thought of some reason not to; there had always been some sliver of optimism for me to stay alive.

Now, as I closed my bedroom door securely behind me, all of the reasons that I'd previously used fled my mind. Why should I stick around just to hate my life? Why should I stick around when it was obvious that no one cared about me and that, no matter where I went, I was going to be as lonely as I was here in New Orleans? Why should I stay here and hate myself for being weak, ugly, and useless? I was never going to amount to anything; I was never going to matter to anyone, least of all myself.

So why the fuck should I live?

I stood at the entrance of my room for a long time, anger and hatred surging through me at the thought of the people who had made my life a living hell. I stood there until my shaking legs grew numb and I came to my conclusion.

I didn't have to live. I didn't have to do any of it. I didn't have to live day to day hoping that I would get hit by a car and die so that my pain would end. For once in my life, I could control my own fate. I could take the pain away all by myself and I was ready to do it.

I left my room and went into the one that my Grandma Manson had lived in before she'd died earlier in the year. I missed her. She was the one person in my life who had made everything worth it. She loved me like no one else ever would; honestly and unconditionally. She understood me without me having to explain myself; she was always there for me, armed with a funny story or a plate of cookies depending on the day. Soon, I would see her again.

I went to her dresser and dug out the medication she'd been on before she'd died. I'd researched the names months ago, finding out what they did and whether or not they'd kill me, if I ever needed them to.

They would, if I took over two dozen of them at once.

I took the pills back to my room. I locked the door behind me. I took a half full water bottle from my desk. I went over to my bed. I lay down against my pillows. I opened the pill bottle and poured them all in my mouth. I swallowed the mouthful of pills with a long gulp of water.

Then I closed my eyes and waited.

_Live this life like I've got nothing to hide_

_Free and wild_

_With the heart of a child_

_With the heart of a child_

Before I even opened my eyes, before I even became fully conscious, I knew that I wasn't dead. I knew that I had failed. The knowledge positively _crushed_ me. I had been so ready: ready to be free; ready to see Grandma Manson; ready to not hurt anymore. And it had all been taken from me. I had been sentenced to live.

I pried my eyes open and the first thing I saw was my mother, standing in the corner of my room. She was dressed, as always, impeccably in a pastel skirt suit with impossibly tall heels. Her appearance was disheveled though; she had mascara down her cheeks, her lipstick had completely rubbed off, and her hair was escaping its usual up do.

"Samantha?" She said. "Sammy, honey, are you really awake?"

_Unfortunately._

"I've been so worried about you," she exclaimed as she approached the bed. She sat down next to me and pressed the button for a nurse before taking my hand. "Why?"

I averted my eyes. I didn't want to answer that question.

"Where's Daddy?" I asked, the absence of my father suspicious. My parents and I had grown apart in recent years, though they were always doing something that didn't involve me, but that didn't mean that I wasn't a daddy's girl; I always had been. My father didn't necessarily know what do with me but he had always doted on me. It was hard to imagine that he wouldn't be here now.

"Something happened down at the factory," Mother said, referencing the family business. "He hated to go." She smoothed my hair back. "Oh, Sammy, he was the one who found you. We were so scared that we were going to lose you forever. I don't know what I would do if that was the case. I'm sorry I failed you, baby girl, and I'm sorry that you went that far. But I'm not going to let you get there again, you hear me? I'm here for you, from here on out. Things are going to get better."

I let my mother run her fingers through my hair, something she hadn't done since I was little, and tried to believe her.

_Try to be everything to everybody but you_

_But the truth is you ain't got nothing to prove _

_You only get one chance_

_Only one trip around this world and…_

Mother drove me home from the hospital two weeks later. I wasn't there for physical health reasons but, rather, mental ones. My doctors wanted to keep me under observation for fourteen days and Mother had relented. She had visited me every day, bringing me magazines, my favourite candy, and my old bat plush that still sat on my bed. I hadn't seen my father the entire time I was there, something that I think my mother was trying to make up for with all of her exuberance.

Now, though, I was being released. I was signed up for biweekly appointments with a therapist the hospital recommended but, really, I was being sent home to wallow in my misery and failure. I hated the fact that my attempt hadn't worked out. Mother and Daddy _never_ came home early from their trips, but they had this time. They had come home in time to wonder why I wasn't answering their calls to come to dinner; they had come home in time for Daddy to break down my bedroom door and find me barely breathing; they had come home in time for me to live.

"How are you feeling, honey?"

"Fine," I answered shortly. I didn't want to talk to her about it. To her credit, Mother hadn't pushed me for details.

"Good … good. I made mac and cheese for dinner, Grandma Manson's recipe. I know how much you loved her mac and cheese."

"Not really hungry," I mumbled.

"A bite or two couldn't hurt," Mother replied optimistically.

I rolled my eyes and got out of the car. The cold wind whipped across my cheeks and I closed my eyes. It was a beautiful feeling; I always loved the wind.

"Now, Samantha, we made some changes to your room."

"What kind of changes?" I asked as I followed her into the house.

"We took the locks off of your bedroom, bathroom and closet doors. If you have anything that could be used as a weapon, please give it to us. We have also locked your grandmother's room so you no longer have access to it."

"Okay," I muttered, heading past her to go up the stairs.

"Dinner will be ready in an hour. Please join us, Sammy-bear."

I pretended like I didn't hear her as I hit the second floor. I turned into my room, leaving the door open. Instead of curling up in my bed, I grabbed a book and hit my bean bag chair. Though, try as I might, I couldn't ignore my four-poster bed. I stared at it, remembering what I had done there days ago. I remembered how I had laid there, full of hope that I would never have to live again.

The sight of my comforter made me sick. I balled it up and stashed it in the spare room in time for Mother to call me down to dinner. I went and ate only half my plate, feigning exhaustion as an attempt to convince Mother to let me go back upstairs (Daddy was, again, suspiciously absent). She did but not before squeezing my hand and telling me that she would be up to check on me in a little bit.

I returned to my room, put on my pajamas, and made a nest for myself on my beanbag chair. I was _not_ sleeping in that bed.

_I wanna run_

_I wanna fall_

_I wanna take every chance that's given to me _

They were all talking about me. Waves of snickers, stares, giggles and insults rolled over me as I tried to walk down the hallway. Somehow, what I had done had gotten around to the student body. Instead of showing compassion (which I hadn't thought for a second they would, but Mother had faith in the student body when she said I would be fine going back to high school), and all my fellow classmates were mocking me for my attempt.

I wanted to turn around and scream at all of them. I wanted to tell them that they were the reason that I did what I did. I wanted to ask how they lived with themselves when they had made someone hate themselves so much that they had tried to take their own life. I wanted to ask how they could be so cold blooded and how they could be so disconnected from the cruelty they were still showing me.

But I wasn't the type of person to do that. Instead, I went to my locker and opened it, steadfastly ignoring the 'attention-seeker' that someone had written in sharpie across the metal door; besides, it was much better than the word 'whore' which my locker had sported a few weeks ago. I pulled my math textbook out of my locker, only to have Jason knock it out of my hands.

"Why the hell are you here?" Leslie asked me, voice high as it rang across the hallway. I glared at her as she inspected her nails.

"Yeah," Becky chimed in. "Shouldn't you be in, like, a fucking mental institution or something?"

"Please," Ashley sighed, "she wouldn't get as much attention there as she would here, and that's what the little whore wants."

"Who would give her attention?" Leslie sneered. "You're a loser, Manson. No one wants you around. You should have done us all a favour and done the job fucking right."

I picked my biology textbook out of my locker and threw it at Leslie's head. For once in my life, I had fairly accurate aim (she was quite close to me, which probably helped as well) and the spine of my textbook caught her in the side of the head. She screeched at me and I flipped her off, far beyond caring about her anger. While Leslie's entourage gathered around her to make sure she was all right, I made my escape. I left school entirely and walked home, tears freely pouring down my cheeks.

Mother was on the front porch when I arrived.

"Thank god!" She cried as soon as she spotted me. She rushed toward me, immediately grabbing me and checking me for wounds. "Your principal called when you didn't show up for class today. I was so worried about you, young lady! I was scared to death that something had happened to you."

"I'm fine," I whispered as she pulled me into a tight hug.

I was always fine.

_Live this life like I've got nothing to hide_

_Free and wild_

_With the heart of a child_

_With the heart of a child_

I was snuggled in the den watching Dr. Phil when Mother came in with vegetable soup for me. She sat the bowl on the coffee table and curled up next to me on the loveseat.

"Talk to me, Sammy," she encouraged me. "I haven't wanted to push but I need you to let me in so that I can help you. Help me, help you, baby."

"They all hate me," I said, looking at my toes instead of her. "Not a single person in that school likes me … I'm not exaggerating. There's never a day when they're not hitting me or making fun of me and I just couldn't take it anymore. And when I tried to go back again, there they were again calling me an attention-seeker. I can't stay here, Mother. I just can't."

"Oh," Mother murmured, pulling me into her arms. "Don't you worry, honey, not about a single thing. I'll take care of you. I promise."

I just cried.

_I wanna chase down a dream_

_With nothing to break my fall_

_Just risk it all_

_And have no regrets_

_And never forget_

"You can't keep doing this to her!"

I was near sleep when my mother's shout roused me. I blinked a couple of times in the darkness, focusing on her voice and trying to discern what was going on.

"What, exactly, am I doing?" Daddy retorted, his voice just as loud as hers.

"You're avoiding your own damn daughter! That's not right."

"Killing yourself isn't right either," Daddy exclaimed. "But she still did that. So don't you think you can boss me around!"

"I'm not trying to boss you around you self-centered pig! I am trying to get you to be there for your own daughter and I shouldn't have to try this hard. She's going through an extremely difficult time right now and she needs both of us. Damn it, wake up and be there."

"I'm not going to cater to whatever she's feeling. I'm not going to change my life around just because she overreacted."

"How can you be so ignorant?" Mother screeched. "Rearranging our lives is _exactly_ what we need to do. What we've previously done isn't working so we need to change!"

I heard the click of heels which signified my mother moving to a different room.

"Pam!" My father yelled after her. "Pam! Don't you dare do it! I don't condone this!"

"Go fuck yourself," my mother screeched as primly as she could.

I curled deeper into my beanbag chair, hating myself. My own father hated me now. But, underneath that, I was also curious. What the hell was my mother doing?

_To run_

_And fall_

_I wanna take every chance that's given to me_

_And live this life like I've got nothing to hide_

_Free and wild_

I had just finished up with my class when Mother had called my name. In lieu of going to school, I had picked up with my classes online, which was suiting me perfectly. I didn't have to see anyone's face; I didn't have to feel like an outcast. I was free to learn. And I could do it in my sweatpants.

I padded downstairs from my room to meet Mother, who was sitting in the living room.

"Sit," she gestured to the armchair across from her.

Confused, I sunk into it. "What's going on?" I questioned. The living room was only, really, used when Mother entertained. The den was for casual use.

"I wanted to ask your opinion on something," Mother said vaguely.

"Okay … what?"

"How would you feel about leaving New Orleans?"

"Leave?" I questioned.

I'd never thought about it. For all the hell that had happened here, New Orleans was my home; the scenery wasn't to blame for the children I had to put up with. I loved my house, I loved the land, but I was also curious to see where Mother wanted to go. Leaving New Orleans, even for a little while, was an intriguing idea. And, maybe, wherever Mother had in mind would be better than here. I could recognize that, as much as I loved my surroundings, the people that my surroundings held weren't as lovable and were damaging to me. Though I'd once thought that I would be hated everywhere that I went maybe that wasn't true; maybe it would be different in another place.

"Where would we go?" I asked.

"I already bought a house," Mother disclosed. "In Amity Park."

Where in the world was 'Amity Park'?

"It's a beautiful, small town. I think you'll love it, Sammy. I think that it will be good for the two of us."

"Two?" I repeated. "Daddy's not going?"

"He has to stay here and take care of the business. He'll visit us though. You know he loves you." She paused. "So, what do you think?"

"I think we'll try it." I said. "I think that it could be a good change."

Besides, nothing in Amity Park could be as bad as what I was leaving behind, right?

_With a smile_

_And the heart of a child_

_And the heart of a child_

**I know this was supposed to be up yesterday but fanfiction absolutely wouldn't load! So, here it is today! I hope it lives up to expectations! And don't forget next Thursday, **_**Invincible **_**comes out!**

**I don't own anything recognizable. Thanks to my betas: Forever Sky.**

**~TLL~**


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